What a strange relationship I had with Jonathan Safran Foer's Everything is Illuminated. When I started reading it, I found it incredibly twee and precious. Then, I got sort of into it. But, by the final third of the novel I was so ready to be done with it that I had no patience for the gimmicks and the punctuation and the look-at-me-ness of it all. It's the first book I have actually thrown upon finishing it since the disaster that was The Little Friend.
It's clear why Safran Foer is a bit of a hipster target. I get why Gawker has entries upon entries mocking him (this is not meant as an endorsement of Gawker, but I see how Safran Foer can kind of get under your skin).
There are moments of brilliant writing in the novel. Safran Foer has a way with phrases, but frequently there would be dramatic phrase after pronouncement after statement, which drew away from the power of the book as a whole. I think that all things considered, the thread about Brod was the only subplot that really grabbed me, and once that had run its course, I found myself just begging for it all to be over. Maybe I lack something in my soul that this book is meant to speak to.
During vacation I read Robert Sullivan's Rats. It is both fascinating and gross. I've been fortunate enough in life to never have seen a rat in the wilds of a city, but now I kind of want to (as long as its several yards away). Rats is part book about rats and part history of New York City, which I didn't expect, but really enjoyed. There's a chapter about the plague near the end that's not at the same level as the rest of the book--it gets a little boring at that point and moves far away from rats, but the rest of it is quality, if not necessarily always the best-edited. There are some gross moments, but only one that really sticks out as hard to take, and Sullivan is never sensational, which is nice.
Thought I'd just put up a couple snapshots of where I've been this week. These are both of the Okatie River, which is located directly outside the cottage where I am staying. A storm was starting to flare up, and since I find clouds much more interesting than sunshine, I took a few photos. Here are two: one of the dock and one of the river.
I've got a little backlog of books to mention, but the most recently finished is You Remind Me of Me by Dan Chaon, which incidentally comes out in paperback this week. I became familiar with Chaon through his short story "The Bees," which I taught in 12th grade English this year. The creepiness of "The Bees" really drew me in, so I grabbed Chaon's debut novel when I got a chance.
It's told in vignettes that nearly stand alone (he is indeed a short story writer), and revolves around three main characters. In many ways, it is a novel about adoption (Chaon is adopted), but I found it to be more about what it means to be a misfit in society. It's especially well done in that it's never overly dramatic, never over-the-top. I recommend it. There are a few cheesy phrases here and there, but in general, it is incredibly well-crafted (even though each chapter begins with a date, I was never struggling to piece together a timeline).